


the thrill of under me you (so quite new)

by freidacay



Series: Link [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Mutual Masturbation, Praise Kink, Riding, Sexual Tension, Some Plot, tell freida to make her smut less complicated 2k16, tra la la beware the woman who is bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freidacay/pseuds/freidacay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Link Club was an amazing experience, but you don't think it's your thing. You're glad you went, though—you'd had the best sex of your life, and it's gotten you a date with one of the sweetest guys you've ever met.</p><p>A month ago, you wouldn't have guessed that guy would be a walking, talking skeleton that tells horrible jokes on the daily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Technically, this is a sequel to my fic suddenly, a smile, and I'm pretty sure some context will be lost on you if you haven't read that first. If you don't want to, though, you shouldn't be _too_ confused. If you're just here for the smut, it's in chapter two!
> 
> To stay in the spirit of things, the title of this fic was also adapted from an e. e. cummings [poem](http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1590/i-like-my-body-when-it-is-with-your/). 
> 
> Please tell me if I left any mistakes behind! Enjoy!

You carry that paper around wherever you go. You're constantly folding and unfolding it until it's creased and textured, and the handwritten message starts to fade.

Never mind that you have the message and the number within memorized, and you've been texting the person who wrote it back-and-forth for a little over a week. Sans is hilarious and strangely sweet. He sends you horrible puns, and sometimes jokes that are actually very witty. He offers you encouragement when your classes become stressful. Sometimes you send each other goofy selfies, making silly faces or just simple "good morning" smiles.

(When he responds to one of the latter with a simple "nice", you feel far too pleased with yourself.)

You're extremely lucky your roommate happened to be out on the particular day you chose to go to the Link Club. You care about her, but she can become obnoxious when it comes to things like sex and monsters. She's also attempted to send you on dates with a rotating selection of people who were completely uninteresting to you. She'd be steamed if she found out you didn't tell her about where you went. She would also want to know every tiny detail, down to the color of the wallpaper in the room you used.

It's hard not to share, at times. Several people have remarked on a glow that seems to have overtaken you. You deflect any questions that people send your way, but you can't hide the way your face lights up when Sans sends you a random text.

Honestly, you can't stop thinking about what happened. You think about it at night, sometimes rolling onto your stomach and shoving a hand down your underwear, pressing your face into a pillow to muffle your moans. You think about it at inopportune moments in the middle of the day, like when you're sitting through a lecture and your mind starts to wonder. You'd love to spend another night with Sans, but you're unsure of how to say as much.

It should be easy, right? There's a mutual attraction. Sans doesn't seem like the type to waste his time on something he's not invested in. What's scary is that you're sure you want more than just sex. What you have is fun. Why complicate things if he's not looking for more?

You groan and pillow your face in your hands. Looks like you're not getting any studying done tonight.

As if your thoughts have summoned him, your phone vibrates in your pocket. Despite your trepidation, you smile. The smile drops when the phone continues to vibrate. He's  _calling_ you. 

"Is that your mystery lover?" Your roommate, Dina, asks, raising a ginger brow at you. She's sprawled out on her bed like some big, long-limbed cat, her eyes trained on your face with her usual unabashed interest.

"Yes. No! I mean, ugh, shut up." You hiss, flustered. She gives you a Cheshire grin. You push up off of your bed as you answer the call, making for the door that leads out of your suite. You shut it firmly behind you once you're out, and then walk to the other side of the hall for good measure, knowing full well that Dina will have pressed herself against the door to listen in.

"H-hello?" You answer.

"Hey, pretty lady," Sans replies. 

Your knees feel kind of wobbly.

"Sans! Hi! I didn't think you'd ever call." You say, stupidly.

"Did you not want me to?" He asks.

"No! I mean, yes! It's just a surprise! But it's good to hear your voice again, after—I mean, not that it's not good to text you. I look forward to your texts. And your selfies. And, and, I like sending you texts and selfies. Highlight of the day. But your voice is great. And... I'm going to shut up." You babble, feeling your cheeks heating.

He laughs. "It's good to hear your voice, too. S'nice."

"Yeah?" You say, biting your lip.

"Yeeeeaaaaaahh," He replies, teasingly drawing the word out until it earns him a laugh.

You ask him how his day's been, and he does the same. You fall into conversation easily. It's good to actually hear him deliver his stupid punchlines, and even better to hear him ask after your general health. You get the feeling that he genuinely cares.

When you can feel the conversation coming to a close, Sans clears his nonexistent throat.

"Listen. Before I called you, I spent, like, thirty minutes trying to come up with a really smart joke to ask you this. But, uh, it didn't work. So I'll just come out and ask you. Do you want to go out sometime?"

"Yes. Yes! Yes, of course!" Your reply is almost immediate. You want to smack yourself on the forehead.

"Yes? Yes. OK. That's good." He sounds relieved. It's hopelessly endearing. You feel warm affection bubbling up in your chest.

"Hey Sans? Knock, knock!"

"Who's there?"

"Go out with!" You chirp.

"Go out with who?" He ventures, voice shaking with amusement.

"I can't wait to go out with you!" You finish, terribly satisfied with yourself.

"Cute." Sans laughs.

The two of you decide on Saturday at seven. Sans tells you he has an idea of where to take you, and that it'll be a surprise. When you hang up, you squeal and hold the phone to your chest. If you ever see Nasser again, you're going to give them a big kiss on the cheek. The Link Club was an amazing experience, but you don't think it's your thing. You're glad you went, though—you'd had the best sex of your life, and it's gotten you a date with one of the sweetest guys you've ever met.

A month ago, you wouldn't have guessed that guy would be a walking, talking skeleton that tells horrible jokes on the daily.

You can't hide your grin when you return to your dorm. It's getting harder and harder not to gush to just about anyone who'll listen. 

As punishment for her nosiness, you tell Dina that you have a date and refuse to elaborate any further.

* * *

Sans told you casual clothes were fine. You still struggle to choose something that doesn't make you groan at yourself. This skirt was too short. That shirt was faded. You didn't think a graphic tee was the best thing to wear, either. That other shirt was kind of see-through. But didn't you want him to see you? 

"I'm so screwed." You mutter, glaring into the mirror mounted on the wall.

"What, you mean like good screwed, or oh-my-god-I-made-a-bad-decision-and-I-regret-everything screwed?"

"I wanted it to be the good screwed, but I think it's the other one." You answer.

Then you nearly jump out of your skin. You look over your shoulder at your roommate. She grins at you, and then places her hands on her wide hips.

"I thought you were going out with your girlfriend today?" You squeak.

She shrugs, "She didn't feel up to it, so. Yeah! Today's your hot date, right?"

Honestly, it's all a little too convenient for your tastes, but at this point you're beyond caring.

"Can you help me find something to wear?" You beg her.

"In exchange for details, yeah," is Dina's cheerful answer, like she knew you were going to panic. She probably did. She knows you too well.

"Later," you promise.

The two of you settle on a pair of skinny jeans and the strappy black boots you bought but haven't really worn yet. They make your legs look nice. Dina lets you borrow a simple blue sweater of hers. It's a little big one you, and exposes your collarbones, along with the strap of your bra, whenever you shift a certain way.

You point this out to her, and she smiles and says, "Exactly."

In a fit of excitement, you snap a picture of yourself and send it to Sans before you lose your nerve.  _Can't wait to see you!_

He replies with a blurry picture of himself lying flat on the ground, holding up one hand in a thumbs-up. You wonder who took the picture for him.

_i was gonna b cute and respond w a dank joke about how you blew me away but i couldn't think of any that worked w bones so yea._

Your phone buzzes with another text soon after. And then again.

_wait i thought of a thing--_

_oh hold up tho i think i dropped something. my j a w_

_shit wow that was bad wait wait_

_actually nvm lol_

_you look good_

You shove your phone into your pocket and manage to cover your face right before you burst into giggles.

"They grow up so fast," Dina crows. Then she slaps your back, like she's some sort of sports coach and you just made the star play.

* * *

Sans texts you directions on where to meet him. It's not a long walk—actually, it's to the small cafe just outside of campus.

Sans is leaning against the brick building, his hands stuffed into the pockets of a blue hoodie. You recognize it from the pictures he's sent you. You pause, noticing that he looks troubled about something. For once, his trademark grin is nowhere to be seen. It sets worry in your chest. Is he looking like that because of you?

"Hey, Sans. Look," you call out, as you walk towards him. He looks up at you, and his expression smoothly morphs into one of true warmth. You grin and gesture at your sweater.

"We match." You finish.

He pushes off of the wall, grinning cheekily up at you. "Just like last time."

You sputter a laugh. Suddenly, you're very interested in the cracks on the concrete. You can see your own booted feet and the nice sneakers Sans has on. The laces are very lazily done, but it works somehow. He grins and holds out a hand for you to take, and you grab it, grateful for the out. 

"Hold on tight," He warns you.

"Oh, I remember this," you say.

You let out a bashful laugh at the suggestive look this gets you.

The first time Sans had done this with you, you'd been sex-warm and loose-limbed and sleepy, so he had carried you in his arms. You blushingly remember telling him how you wished he could have stayed in your dorm with you.

When you arrive at your destination, you stumble at the abrupt change. Sans' grip on your hand tightens, and he catches you by the hip with his other hand, pulling you to his chest. You can feel the smooth plane of his sternum pressed into you, along with every bump and dip and ridge of his ribcage.

"Thanks." You whisper.

Sans' grin widens. "Pleasure's mine." 

It's then that you notice his hand is resting lowly on your hip, just over the curve of your bottom. You're slow to disconnect with him. As you do so, it's like the sounds around you have only just abruptly began to fill your ears.

Sans rights you slowly, his hands lingering, and you place your hands on his shoulders before leaning in to kiss his temple in thanks.

"Welcome to my favorite arcade." He tells you, swinging his arm out. You laugh, delighted.

"It's been so long since I've been to an arcade! Oh, man. This is the best."

Smething about the low lighting and the bright display of different game machines in an arcade always filled you with wonder as a kid. That feeling returns now, amplified by the low chatter of the place, and the warm thrum of excitement that seems to linger over every person there.

You're pleased to see that monsters and humans alike are present. Sans leads you around from game to game. He firmly refuses to let you pay for anything, and you vow to try and get him to split the costs if you go on a second date.

(You hope you go on a second date.)

He kicks your ass at every fighting game you go to. You're evenly matched at Guitar Hero and Rockstar. On another two-player game, involving weird guns, badly-voice acted cut scenes, and giant, ridiculous shoot-em-up bosses, Sans fumbles and costs you the game. You kiss his cheek in response to his giggling apology. You play that one three more times. Each time, he messes up. You suspect he's doing it on purpose. You want to tell him you'd kiss him without much prompting anyways, but where's the fun in that?

Many people greet him during the transition from game to game. One little monster kid in particular is so excited to see him that they come running and then trip, falling flat on their face. They're back up just as fast, jumping over and babbling excitedly about the new motorcycle simulation games the owner introduced to the arcade. You wonder how they'd play it, seeing as they have no arms. Sans listens patiently, fueling the conversation with appropriately excited noises and commentary.

Almost as soon as they came, the kid gives Sans an affectionate headbutt and then scurries away, shouting a greeting at you over their shoulder. You're completely charmed.

"What a cutie." You gush. "You were really good with them."

Sans shrugs one shoulder, "Nah. MK's pretty easy to please." 

Sans is the one that looks more pleased than anything, but you decided not to point that out to him.

"Can we try out the motorcycle thingy?"

"I've got a real motorcycle, if you ever wanna try that out sometime. But, uh, yeah." He answers.

The offer makes you smile.

It's not hard to find the new additions. The mock motorcycles are lined up against a far wall, large televisions situated in front of them. The motorcycles are large as well, and shiny to boot. You excitedly point at them. Sans follows you over to them, and grinning watches as you scramble onto the one at the end of the row.

The game is soon started. You're a little embarrassed that you quickly fall into last place, but you hide it with a determined look on your face.

"Look. When you make a turn, you don't want to put so much weight into it..." 

Sans says, sidling close. His hands cradle your hips from behind, large and somehow warm, and they ease you into different movements.

His words are quickly lost on you, and you focus on the low register of his voice. Soon you're just following each miniscule shift of his body against yours. He presses his hand into your lower stomach to move you one way. One hand slides up to cradle your ribs when he maneuvers you into another position. You squeeze your thighs around your seat, faintly embarrassed by the shock of arousal dancing through your body.

"Look," Sans whispers. When had you closed your eyes. "You won."

You have indeed won. You let out a shuddering laugh, and lean your head back against his shoulder.

"L-looks like I did. Thank you."

"You're welcome." You're sure he's not really talking about the game.

"You wanna get out of here? Get something to eat?" He asks, as he helps you down from the bike. You don't really need the help, but your legs do feel a bit weak.

"Uh, yeah. But you have to let me split the cost this time!" You add, pointing your finger at his face.

His reply is a barking laugh. He leads you out of sight before taking your hand and using that strange magic again. This time, you're better prepared for the transition, but you pretend to stumble anyway. Sans gives you an amused grin.

"Sans," a voice calls. "Your tab."

"I'll pay it tomorrow." Sans replies. You glance around, taking in the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant you've landed in. There's mostly monsters here. After sending you a cursory glance, most of them friendly, they greet Sans and then continue on with whatever they were doing before you arrived.

You follow Sans to the bar at the back of the restaurant. The man standing behind it is literally made of fire. You only just manage to stifle the surprised noise rising in your throat.

"...Last time I checked, 'tomorrow' doesn't last three years." The man of fire says, sounding entirely unimpressed. He's polishing a row of glasses. You wonder how the small towel in his hands hasn't been reduced to ashes.

"Eh," Sans shrugs one shoulder. He slides onto a stool, and you follow suit, trying your hardest not to stare at the bartender.

"Sans," the man deliberates. "Three years."

Sans blinks and says, "I didn't know our anniversary was coming up so fast, Grillbz. How about I get you some tiger lilies to match your eyes? Huh. Now that I think of it, with those little black spots, they kinda match your outfit, too."

Grillby stares blankly at Sans.

"You know you light up my life, Grillbz." Sans says, clutching at his chest.

After a beat, he shakes with laughter.  The bartender adjusts his glasses with a low chuckle.

Sans sobers and introduces you to the bartender. "This is Grillby. He's been keeping me alive since before we left the Underground."

Grillby tips his head at you in greeting, and then he turns to Sans, tilting his head to the side.

"And one for the lady, please," Sans says, answering some unspoken question.

Grillby nods, and then heads for the kitchen.

You rest your chin in your palm and grin at your companion.

"Looks like you're a real heartbreaker, huh?"

"What can I say? Folks love my bone structure and amazing hair." He produces a comb from his pocket and runs it over his skull with a serene smile. It widens as you let out a surprised laugh. 

When you calm down, you fold your arms on the bar and press your face into your forearm as you watch him, hoping to hide the goofy grin that you can't get rid of. He mimics your pose, and the two of you stare for just a minute. 

After a beat, he whispers, "If this is a staring contest, you're gonna lose."

"Oh, yeah? That a challenge?" You prompt him, bumping your shoulder against his.

"Baby, it's a fact." Is his breezy answer.

Turns out he's right, though: you resort to making funny faces to distract yourself from the stinging in your eyes. You're both cackling like fiends when Grillby comes back out with a plate and a ketchup bottle. Not wanting Grillby to see the dumb expression on your face, you finally blink. You give a mock wail of despair, kicking your feet.

You rub at your eyes with the heel of your palms, giggling as Sans pats your back, commending you on a job well done. Sans pulls the ketchup bottle close. He pops the cap and drinks straight from the bottle.

"Oh my gosh," you laugh, taking a bite of the burger Grillby prepared for you. It's delicious. You let out an appreciative hum, and give Grillby a thumbs up. You can't exactly tell, but he looks pleased.

"Ketchup is a delicacy in the Underground." Sans tells you, sniffing.

"What, really?" You ask, raising a brow.

He laughs. "Nah, I just like it a lot." 

Conversation flows well between you. You tell each other your likes and dislikes. You tell each other about your families. You learn that Sans has a younger brother, Papyrus, and a network of colorful friends. You're surprised to learn that he knows the child that freed the Underground, and is good friends with the grandmotherly monster that's raising them. You remember seeing the both of them on television multiple times.

"So how'd you find the Link Club?"

He grins. You've both been finished with your food for a bit, and you're pressed close, your heads bowed together. You only just notice the hand resting high on your thigh, and the way Sans' eyes linger on your exposed collarbone and roves down your figure. You feel warm.

"That was a happy accident. And it's kind of a long story."

"I've got time." You offer, covering his hand with yours.

"I'd rather be spending that time doing something else," He says, and his hand inches higher until it's resting at the crease of your thigh. "Is that okay with you? I had fun tonight. Doesn't have to end here."

You flush. "Yes, that's okay with me. That's more than okay. I had fun, too."

"I've gotta tell you, if you go home with me, you're probably not leaving until morning." He warns you.

"Then take me home." You tell him, cupping his cheekbone.

He closes his sockets and breathes deeply, before pulling away and calling out for Grillby.

"Put it on my tab, Grillbz!!" He instructs his friend.

Grillby shakes his head at you. You wave goodbye as Sans takes your hand once again.

"My place isn't far from here," Sans informs you, waving to the other patrons as you make your way out of Grillby's restaurant.

"It's kinda tiring to use those shortcuts so much in one day. I want to save my energy for something else." He explains, winking at you. You duck your head and smile.

It's dark out. You away close to Sans, taking in the warmth of him. It's chilly out, and you're starting to regret your choice of clothing just a little bit. When the two of you pass under areas of the sidewalk not illuminated by the streetlights—which are already rather dim in this district of the city—you notice that the pinpricks of light in Sans' sockets cast a faint glow over the smooth surface of his white bones.

"I'm glad I did this." You say.

"Yeah?" He asks, looking up at you. His smile is a little bashful. It's endearing to see that his confident veneer has dropped just a little bit.

"Yeah. I mean. It took me a long time to work up the courage to go to the Link Club in the first place. And that was... Great. And I met you! I guess what I'm trying to say is, this is really unusual and all, but I'm glad I took a chance. I really like you, Sans." Your voice gets smaller and smaller with each word, until you're cringing at yourself.

Sans stills you with a hand on your arm.

"Come here," he says, making a grabby-hands gesture.

You bend down, and he promptly curls his hand around the back of your neck. You shiver at the gesture, obligingly moving in. He presses his teeth against your lips, and you understand immediately, sliding your arms around his shoulders and leaning in to kiss him. It's the very definition of a chaste kiss, seeing as he can't reciprocate in the traditional sense, and yet it's still the most breathtaking kiss you've ever experienced.

"I think I kinda like you, too." He murmurs.

It's hard to put one foot in front of the other, after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally get to enjoy another night with Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to break this up, lol. I'm trash.

Sans' home is a cozy, two-story affair, halfway between a cottage and a house.

He smilingly tells you that it's not unlike his home in the Underground. You don't get to see much of it, though—you're occupied with pressing yourself as close to him as possible, running your hands over his shoulders and pressing hungry kisses onto whatever is in reach. He leads you up the stairs with an arm locked around your waist, cursing the entire way.

Soon, Sans has you in a sparsely furnished bedroom, pressed against a door you hadn't even noticed he closed.

"Is this okay?" He asks you. His sockets are completely dark.

"Yes, yes, it's okay," You breathe, reaching down to curl your fingers into the soft fur of his jacket.

"Same rules as last time," he states, punctuating his words with a final click of his door's lock.

And then one of his hands is sliding up your shirt, moving up your belly, lingering over your ribs, and then cupping your breast. He slots his femur between your thighs, pressing against your center. You cling to him, hoping to get as close as you possibly can.

"Please tell me you think about that night as much as I do," you beg him.

Sans nuzzles his face into your neck. "I probably think about it more than you do. How you looked in that damn dress. The way you sounded. The way you felt around my fingers..."

He hitches his femur up against you, and releases a low purr when you whine and roll your hips with the movement. His thumb circles the hardened peak of your nipple through the fabric of your bra.

"Was it good for you?" You whisper.

You startle just a bit when you feel a wet tongue lick a warm streak up your neck. The tip of his tongue reaches a sensitive spot, just the area where your earlobe meets the curve of your jaw. You let out a low moan.

Sans moves his hand from underneath your shirt. You raise your arm to accommodate him, and he takes your wrist into his hand. He guides your hand down to his shorts, where you can see the faint blue outline of his arousal.

"You feel that? That's what you do to me." His voice hitches as you curl your fingers around the shaft, giving a curious squeeze. He curses into your skin.

"Bed." You say.

"Bed," he agrees.

The two of you stumble towards the bed. You trip on the lazily done laces of his sneakers and fall back onto the sheets. Sans follows suit, and you let out a small "Oof!" at having his weight pressed into your front so abruptly.

"Shit, sorry," he gasps, leaning up on his hands.

You cover your face and laugh. He joins you, planting his face into the mattress beside your head.

"Smooth, bone-boy." He says.

Sans reaches down for them hem of your sweater, gently pulling it off your torso. The bra is off next, and you have to resist the urge to cover yourself. It's nothing he hasn't seen before.

"You're beautiful," he sighs, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts.

"Don't say that." You mutter, covering your face again. His thumbs flick your nipples, pulling a sigh from you. His hands trail down your sides, phalanges pressed into your flesh. He curiously pokes at your belly button, earning him a light giggle.

"Shut up, you are," he laughs, moving down your body until he's kneeling at the foot of the bed.

You sit up to help him undo your boots, blushing as your mismatched socks are revealed.

"You have cute feet," He says, after he pulls them off and tosses them.

You wiggle your toes in his face, not sure how to respond. He playfully nips at your toes and you yelp.

You lean back and tilt your hips up as he undoes the fly of your jeans and then pulls them down. Your panties follow. These, he stuffs into his pocket with a serene smile.

"Sans!" You shriek, shooting up and reaching for them.

"Nah," he says. "Nah! Mine, now."

You're quickly laughing through a short slap fight, which he ends by pinning your hands to the bed. You can feel his arousal pressed against your pussy, warm and heavy.

"Oh," is all you can say.

"Yeah, oh." He says, leading you into a slow grind.

"Oh," you say, again. You roll your hips with him, enjoying the heavy feeling of his powerful thrusts. The texture of his shorts feels wonderful against your clit.

"Can you blame me for wanting to keep them? You smell so good. I can smell you right now." Sans growls.

"Stop saying things like that," you protest, tossing your head. He follows the movement with tongue and teeth, licking and nipping at your heated skin. You don't actually want him to stop.

"Can you touch yourself for me?" He asks, leaning up just the slightest bit. "You looked so good when you made yourself cum last time. I want to watch. Show me what you like?"

You blush and bite your lip. "But what if it looks weird to you?"

His pupils rove over your form in one slow, deliberate movement, and then settle on your face.

"I like what I see." He says, finality in his voice. "I can do it, too. We can watch each other."

"Can you take off your clothes, then?" You ask, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie.

He laughs, "Now _that_ would look weird."

He complies, though, leaning away to quickly shuck his clothes. He's far less delicate about his own than he was with yours. You laugh when he struggles with his shoes and ends up kicking them at the far wall in a huff.

He turns back to you and gives a one-shouldered shrug. You're fascinated by him, by the shape of his ribs and the size of his bones. They're different from human bones, you're pretty sure. You'd rather be touching him than yourself, but you don't know how to say as such. You scoot back until your back touches the headboard. Sans kneels between your spread thighs. He licks the palm of his hand with his glowing tongue, and then curls his hand around the shaft of his cock.

The look on his face is positively filthy. It's in the crooked curve of his toothy grin, and the heat in the blue light of his magic.

"Touch yourself for me." He tells you, and so you do.

You start by running your hands up and down your body, like you would do if you were own your own. Your movements are stilted, at first, almost staged. You cup your breasts and squeeze. You gasp and jerk when you twist your nipple a bit too hard, the slight twinge of pain sending a burst of arousal through your body. One hand stays at your chest, and the other makes the slow journey down your stomach. It pauses at the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh, your finger nails digging into the skin, making your stomach lurch pleasantly. Sans' gaze is rapt on your hand. 

You pause and stare up at the ceiling, breathing lowly between your teeth.

"It's okay, babe. Let me see you? I bet you'll look so good." Sans whispers.

You trail one finger up your folds, pausing at your clit. You arch your back at the relief you feel at this, letting out another sigh.

"Shit, that's good. Go slow, first." Sans says. He widens his stance on the bed. Your knees, which are locked around his thighs, widen as well.

Your eyes fall to Sans' cock. He's pumping himself lazily, pausing every now and then to give a gentle twist at the base before trailing up to ghost the tip of his finger over the slit at the head. The sight makes you warm.

You slide the tip of one finger down to your entrance, dipping into the wetness there. You're aroused enough that the tip slides in easily enough. You tilt your hips up and trail your finger up into your inner folds, your arousal easing the way.

"Rub your clit for me, sexy. Not too fast."

You pull your finger from inside and move it back to your clit, rubbing your own slick against the hardened nub. You squirm when you find the sensitive spot on the side of the hood, rubbing slow, intent circles into it. You whimper and buck your hips.

"Yes, that's good. You're so wet," Sans hisses. He's stroking himself a little faster now, his grip tight around his shaft. There's precum beading at the tip, which he sweeps with his thumb on each pass. 

Your free hand delves into your hair. There's a pleasant ache at your entrance, which tightens and flutters on each pass of your fingers against your clit. You slide one finger inside, wet enough that you practically coat yourself on the first thrust.

"Can you add another finger for me?" Sans asks you. 

Another finger joins the first, the stretch a pleasurable burn. You moan and toss your head, moving into your hips into your own unhurried thrusts. The wet sound coming from between your legs makes you flush.

"That's it, baby. Fuck yourself. Shit," Sans curses. His sockets are lidded, and there's sweat beading on this temples. His rhythm is becoming jerky. His focused attention on you makes you feel exposed in a delicious way. Seeing the effect you have on him fills you with a deeply-rooted satisfaction.

You moan out his name and get a wrecked growl in reply. You're both close, this you can feel. It's extremely hard not to plunge another finger inside yourself, press your thumb into your clit, and bring yourself to orgasm. It's even harder not to continue watching Sans stroke himself. You briefly consider the notion of taking him into hand and doing that yourself, until he cums in spurts across your heated skin. You let out a whine at the mental image.

"Are you close?" Sans grunts. He lets out a curse and pauses, squeezing rhythmically at the base of his cock.

"Yes. S-stop, I don't want to do it this way." You gasp, stilling his movements with your hand. You pull your fingers out of yourself, moaning at the wet slide. Sans catches your wrist and brings your hand to his face, his tongue darting out to lick your slick from your fingers.

"What do you want?" He asks. You glance away for a moment, blushing at the first thought that comes to mind. He hums and leans back, grinning rakishly.

"Well?" He prompts. You scramble up and sway close to him, and he cradles your hips, pressing himself against you. You wrap your arms around him, hooking your fingers into the space between his ribs. You can feel his ribs pressed into the soft flesh of your breasts. He shudders at your touch.

"What do you want?" He repeats, this time directly into your ear. His hand trails up and down the curve of your sides. His breath is warm on your skin. "You can tell me. I just want you to feel good."

"I want you inside," You whisper, both embarrassed and far too aroused to stop stop yourself from speaking. 

Sans hooks his hand underneath your knee, pulling you along as he lays himself out on the bed.

"Like this?" You ask him, just a little intimidated.

"I wanna see your face." He explains.

He helps you rise up onto your knees with one hand on your hip, the other holding his cock into position. You guide him inside, breathing lowly as you sink onto his length. You're well prepared, but there's still just a slight ache. Nothing you can't handle. Your walls flutter around his girth when you bottom out, and he hisses lowly. 

"Fuck, you're still so tight." Sans moans.

You place your hands on his ribs for leverage and pull up onto your knees, then lower yourself once again. At first, the angle is all wrong, and you continue you move about and try to find what works what's best for you. You let out a frustrated huff. His cock feels wonderful stretching you open, but it's not enough.

"Here, try like this," He suggests, his hands moving your hips into a slow roll. You tense up, letting out a high whine as his cock grazes a sensitive area inside. You rock against him, small back-and-forth movements that steal the breath from your lungs. His pelvic bone is placed right against your clit, and its hard surface sends an electric thrill up your spine on each pass of your hips.

"That's it. You're doing great. Just take what you need. I've got you." Sans rumbles.

His hands are everywhere. They move from your hips to the globes of your ass, squeezing tight, to your heaving belly, and then over your ribs and to your bouncing breasts. Your nipples are pinched between his metacarpals, the sting wrenching a gasp from your lips. You bite your lip to stifle the guttural moans rising in your chest.

"Don't hold it in. Let me hear you." He says, reaching up and trailing his thumb over your bottom lip. You suck on his hard, smooth bones, making him curse lowly. 

You can feel yourself tightening around him. You rise up onto your knees and begin to ride him in earnest, tossing your hair and bouncing in his lap. He plants his feet on the mattress, gently tilting you back. He presses his palm low against your belly, the other hand moving to where you're stetched tight around him, fingers gliding over your slick flesh. He begins to meet you thrust for thrust, growling encouragement up at you. 

Sans' pupils are trained on your flushed face. You like that he's watching you more than you care to admit, even though there's a mild embarrassment that comes with it that you can't get rid of. You let out a hitching cry each time he bottoms out, clenching tightly around his cock. It drags against the sensitive area deep inside on each outwards pull, pulling a throaty moan from you. He's long since fallen into incoherence, cursing and growling your name each time your bodies meet.

His fingers trail up your folds and catch on the bundle of nerves at the crest of your slit. He traces the hood, and then rubs his fingers directly into the head, and that shatters you. You jerk, and then lose your balance, falling into him. You fists your hands into the mattress as you cum, your hips bucking wildly through each contraction. 

Sans thrusts up into you through each wave, his hands slamming your hips down onto his cock. You press your face into his sweaty temple, unable to hold in the keening noises coming from between your clenched teeth. He follows not soon after your orgasm tapers off into pleasant aftershocks, groaning your name as he cums in thick, hot spurts inside of you.

The two of you stay as you are for a few blissful moments, basking in the afterglow. Sans' ribs expand with each breath he takes, moving you gently up and down. He trails his fingers along your spine, rhythmic and whisper soft. You give a contented hum.

"I've been waiting to do that all week," you confess, once you've caught your breath. You press a kiss onto his teeth, smiling when he leans up just enough to receive it better.

He laughs when you separate, teasingly playing his fingers over your ribs. "What, me?"

"Yes, you! Hey, cut that out!"  You squeal, laughing both genuinely and reflexively. You pull his hands away from you ribs, and kiss each of his curled fingers, blushing when you smell yourself on his fingers.

He rolls you onto your back, and slowly pulls out of you. You whimper at the empty feeling. You squirm as Sans spreads your thighs and curiously glances between your legs. You're still sensitive, so when he presses his fingers into your swollen folds and then inside, you whimper. The ache is pleasurable, and you can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers. Given enough time to recover, you'll probably want to go again. You let out a high laugh. You think you're probably addicted to him.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I just—that's really hot."

"It's okay," your breath leaves you in a rush.

He presses his fingers against your lips, a questioning look on his face. He curses when you slowly accept them into your mouth, sucking both your slick and his cum off of them.

"I think you should stay. In the morning, I mean." He suggests, his voice husky. His hand, still wet, trails down your chin and the sensitive column of your neck, and lands in the valley between your heaving breasts.

"I like that idea." You whisper. 

* * *

The next morning, you miss an entire class. 

(It's worth it.)

**Author's Note:**

> Some aspects of this were inspired by an Anon's suggestion on Tumblr: "heyyy, i headcanon sans to give lots of positive affirmations and gentle encouragement when doing the dirty, do you think could include this in your next fic?"  
> I hope this is what you were looking for! Since the reader in this universe is particularly shy, and kind of inexperienced, I though it'd work well. 
> 
> Also, since people expressed an interest in reading a continuation of suddenly, a smile, this is two birds with one ~~bone~~ stone! I have an idea of where I'd want to take this whole shindig, but it's not a definite thing at all. If I update this particular storyline, it'll be sporadic.
> 
> Thank you for being so patient with me! I'm afraid that this one is too long. RIP me. I also don't like this one too much, to be honest, but I put more effort into this than I thought I would, so here we are! Please leave a comment if you have the time, and again, tell me if I left any mistakes behind. *flounces away*


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